


Maurice

by immistermercury



Series: art student! freddie [7]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Art student Freddie, First Meetings, Fluff, I'm Serious, M/M, falling in love over a copy of nietzsche, i have writer's block and this was the result, independent book stores, it's the dark academia au you never knew you needed, jim is a philosophy student, university boys!, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25315318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immistermercury/pseuds/immistermercury
Summary: “What else have you got there?” Jim asked curiously.Freddie’s cheeks reddened noticeably as he carefully revealed the cover of the book at the bottom of his pile. “It’s- it’s called Maurice.”“I’ve heard of that one!” He said triumphantly. “Isn’t it about a young man who falls in love with..?”Freddie watched as he widened his eyes and nearly laughed at how ridiculous he looked. “I just- I just thought it might be interesting, you know, a look into the psychology behind it.”Jim chuckled and took the book from him, examining the cover. “I suppose you could say I’m something of a Maurice myself.”
Relationships: Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury
Series: art student! freddie [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1232951
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Maurice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nisargasinha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisargasinha/gifts).



> I have writer's block and sometimes you just have to break all of your long AUs and write something crazy - so here you go!
> 
> For those of you who don't know, E. M. Forster's Maurice is about a young man who goes to university and falls in love with another man while he's there. It's an incredibly beautiful novel (and it's a happy portrayal of mlm relationships!) and I super highly recommend it!

The sun barely managed to filter through the dust on the windowpanes, and he was thankful for the momentary respite from the noise and the chaos of the streets outside. He was thankful for the respite from the oppressive heat of the tube, his fingers blackened with ink from the Standard that he’d barely managed to read a page of; his suit jacket clung a little to the damp skin at his waist. Sometimes, he considered, he needed a break from the gorgeous, iridescent brightness of his capital city; sometimes, he needed somewhere a little darker, a little cooler, somewhere he could thumb tattered pages of Derrida, Wittgenstein, Nietzsche-

He jerked his hand back as though the touch between them had been pure electricity, hot and bright enough to disrupt his moment of calm.

The stranger smiled at him, sweet, inquisitive, and picked the book off the shelf. “Nietzsche.” He murmured, flicking to the first page and scanning the long lines of prose that lay before him. 

Jim wasn’t sure what kept him there, glued, fixated on the look of wonder on the stranger’s face as he swallowed the words as though they were as sweet and easy as warm tea. Dark eyes scanned the sentences rapidly, as though they were to disappear at any moment, and Jim watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he read, the observation unheeded. Jim faltered for a moment longer, carefully folding up the sleeve of his jacket to viciously murder time until he could meet those eyes again: when four pages had been turned with no sign of a break, he found himself smiling wider.

“Do you like it?” He asked curiously.

The stranger’s head snapped up, but he smiled at the earnest look on his face. “It’s beautiful.” He murmured. “I feel- I feel like I could never even attempt to understand what he’s saying. This bit- this here-” He gestured, but when his gesture failed, he dug a pen from his pocket to underline the sentence in question. “What do you think?”

Jim took the book from him - he had never before read a book, not in the thousands he’d perused, that had been warmed from the palm of another’s hand - and let his eyes glaze over the text before him. “It tastes like honey.”

He’d never seen eyes as gorgeous as the stranger looked in that moment; he wondered if it was joy, the simple joy of connection, of community, finding another who loved his art as much as himself. “Honey.” He repeated. “I don’t think it’s so natural. Aspartame.”

Jim grinned back at him: the way they spoke in metaphors made him feel as though they spoke in another language altogether. “Isn’t that going to kill you?”

“One of these days.” He laughed, taking the book back when Jim offered it and watching him curiously. “Who are you?”

The way he spoke made Jim think he considered him an apparition, a ghost materialised from thin air to speak the mellifluous tones of modern philosophy, or else a demon to chant them over his bedside. “Jim.” He shifted the pile of books in his hand to one arm and held out his other hand. “Who are you?”

“Freddie.” He shook his hand, and the palms of their hands felt magnetised in that moment; Freddie wished they lived in an Austen novel, one where the man before him would drop to his knees and beg his leave to kiss his hand. “Do you- do you come here often?”

“Too often.” Jim laughed, tucking his hair back from his face. The boy - Freddie, he smiled to himself - wore a black turtleneck sweater, hugging the long column of his throat perfectly and tapering down to a thick black belt, black trousers with a grey check, and heavy loafers. In his hands, he clasped three books, and a Cross fountain pen balanced precariously in the fold of the spine of the Nietzsche that lay on top; the black cover contrasted the bronze glow of his fingertips, against which a series of silver rings stood. “What else have you picked up?”

“I-” He stammered for a moment, and Jim watched a gorgeous rosy blush tint the apples of his cheeks. “I don’t have any system for picking these up, I just thought they looked good.”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as a system in this place.” Jim laughed, leaning against the bookshelf beside them; three books immediately tumbled from their places, narrowly avoiding his head, and he jumped back in surprise.

Freddie’s laugh was beautiful. 

“But still-” He laughed with him, his fingers brushing the old tweed jacket free of dust. “What have you picked up?”

“Save Me The Waltz.” Freddie shifted a couple of books to hand him the right one, giving him a chance to read the back page. 

Jim whistled as he scanned the page. “A ballet dancer?” He asked. “You don’t see many of those in fiction.”

“I thought it sounded a little different.” He agreed. 

“What else have you got there?” Jim asked curiously.

Freddie’s cheeks reddened noticeably as he carefully revealed the cover of the book at the bottom of his pile. “It’s- it’s called Maurice.”

“I’ve heard of that one!” He said triumphantly. “Isn’t it about a young man who falls in love with..?”

Freddie watched as he widened his eyes and nearly laughed at how ridiculous he looked. “I just- I just thought it might be interesting, you know, a look into the psychology behind it.”

Jim chuckled and took the book from him, examining the cover. “I suppose you could say I’m something of a Maurice myself.”

“A- a Maurice?” Freddie asked, his eyes widening in a mixture of surprise and excitement. 

Jim shrugged with a grin. “Think what you will.” 

Freddie laughed a little, shaking his head, and hugged the books to his chest. “You don’t happen to have the time, do you?”

“The time?” He asked, pulling up his sleeve to reveal an old watch. Freddie was impressed that the chain on his watch matched the pattern on his belt buckle, and used it as an excuse to look him up and down; his eyes caught at the taut silk shirt against his chest, though he was mostly hidden behind the enormous tweed jacket, patched in odd places. 

The man was fucking perfect. 

“It’s coming on five o’clock.” He replied, looking up at Freddie and grinning when he realised he’d been looking. “Got plans tonight?”

Freddie laughed a little and shook his head. “No plans. Why, have you?”

“It probably involves a book and a coffee shop.” He chuckled. “You’re welcome to join us.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your close partnership.” Freddie joked.

“Oh, you’d only enhance it, I promise!” He gently touched the top of his hand and smiled. “I’d like it.”

“Is my sketchbook invited?” He teased, though his smile had widened further.

“You’re an artist?” He asked, losing the elegance in his speech to the sudden burst of excitement. 

Freddie grinned back at him. “Art student, but close enough.”

“Oh, of course it’s invited!” He said excitedly. “Of course, I have to see it!”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a couple of ideas based on this and so I might come at you with a few more little oneshots, but right now I don't think this is going to be a long fic - maybe in the future, let me know what you think!


End file.
